Her Butler, Wolfram
by Sushillama74
Summary: The Gastrell family has just moved into a new mansion. Wolfram, Fraser, Gunther, Annika, and Lorelei all plan to do their best to aid the family. However,that is no easy feat considering the suspicious family next door,and an old enemy is out for revenge.
1. Chapter 1

Her name is Lycloris Gastrell. She is still at the peak of her youth; always ready to make a statement yet, she can never seem to get a firm grip on reality. It's quite interesting to see her masquerade about, an elegant smile always surfacing on her face. Her beloved angel, white dress with the tea stain never ceases from her view. The only treasure she truly desires and adores is that innocent white dress. Passed down from her mother, she cares for it like she would an infant child. Still so young, she never has taken her problems in an orderly manner. Oblivious to the consequences, she will either dump it on me or her father. I'm content that she is enjoying herself, but the time has come for her to take up her womanly responsibilities as Mistress of the house. I, Wolfram Ajax, will be with her to the end to see to it that she completes her tasks and finds a greater meaning in life.

. . .

Sunlight filtered in through the enormous, sophisticated stained glass window. The picture depicted on the window was that of a holy dove; ready to greet the day with a colorful display and then whisper the last breath in the household when darkness finally draped itself across the landscape. Wolfram had just finished polishing up the eggshell blue vase that stood at the base of the window. Adjusting his glasses, he gave the vase a final look-over before dusting off his hands and positioning it back in place. A soft rap resounded from the closed door as Wolfram was altering the position of the curtains so they let in more light.

"Is that you Gunther?" Wolfram called over his shoulder, still messing with the curtains.

"Yes, it's me," Gunther's deep voice replied, muffled by the door. The doorknob was played with for a moment then, it squeaked open to reveal Gunther holding his prized cello. Wolfram finally got the curtains to cooperate and turned around to confront Gunther.

"Everything alright, chap?" Wolfram questioned, although it was quite obvious nothing was. Gunther's usually soft blue eyes were glazed over with annoyance and his dark grey hair was tied in a sloppy ponytail. His gracious smile was plastered over with a murderous sneer and he appeared like he had aged about twenty years.

"Bloody hell Wolfram, do I look alright to you?" Gunther snapped, pounding his fist against the door. "My cello was just dented by that damn cat of yours." Gunther gave the impression that he had more to gripe about. Nothing came between Gunther and his cello, especially since his cello was one of the most expensive antiques to present itself in the mansion. It would cost a fortune to get the thing repaired.

Wolfram's eyes glided down to see the damage their cat, Rin, had dealt to the cello. Wolfram gave a small grunt of surprise. The neck of the cello was bent forward so much that the strings were loose and it would be impossible to attempt to even play. Then Gunther held out the bow. Wolfram glanced up to see what hardships the bow had gone through. It was in worse condition than he thought. The bow was split in half so cleanly that it was hard to believe Rin could pull it off. Concluding that he didn't feel like dealing with the problem, Wolfram snapped his eyes up so they could meet Gunther's.

"Rin isn't my feline, its Master Balthazar's. If you want somebody to rant to about this imprudent problem, it best be him." Wolfram then swiveled around and picked up the duster to begin on the mahogany bookshelves that loomed in the far left corner of the tea room.

Gunther groaned and then turned on his heel and stomped out the door.

"You'll pay for making me see that old bastard!" Gunther shouted from down the hall, thumping up the grand staircase toward Balthazar's study.

Wolfram's days always began like this. Gunther, Fraser, Annika, Lycloris, or Lorelei would always complain about their troubles to him thinking he could solve everything. Technically, he could solve everything, but being bugged by the impudent little brats just caused him to send them on their way.

Wiping his brow, Wolfram puffed out a troubled sigh. Since the family had moved into the new mansion, it took a while to get used to the layout of the rooms. Where once the dining hall should have stood now is taken over by the mammoth sized library that holds all of Balthazar's literary elements. Everything seemed awkward and out of place to him. Then there was also the fact that they had a next door neighbor no more than 15 kilometers away from them. The old mansion was 30 kilometers away from any other structure inhabited by humans.

However, it was even more puzzling that he didn't have a clue to who the neighbors were. He had never caught sight of them nor caught wind of their last name. Pondering his thoughts, Wolfram began to dust the shelves again. He would have to do some research concerning the mysterious neighbors. He dare not step foot in that place because it had a menacing aura about it. He would have to busy himself with the townsfolk information.

Having decided what he would do for the remainder of the afternoon, he gently placed the duster behind the bookshelves. Then he strolled over to the small, decorative desk near the blue vase. Grasping the handle, he unfastened the drawer and it creaked open. Inside laid a dainty quill pen, numerous sheets of cream colored paper, and a glass ink bottle with the family emblem printed on the lid. Taking each one out, he placed them on the desk and unscrewed the ink bottle. Picking up the quill pen, he dipped it inside the black ink and began to write in swirly handwriting on the blank paper. Finishing off his letter, he capped the ink and placed everything back in the drawer. Gingerly, he clutched the paper and put it under his arm. He would place it where everyone would be able to find it. A slow smile crept across his face as he strode out of the room, his coattails drifting out behind him.

. . .

Lorelei rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. It had been a long day of cleaning and helping Annika out in the garden, and she was ready to throw in the towel. Finger combing her burnt orange hair, she tugged it up into a ponytail and tied it off with an old, silver ribbon. It had seen better days, but it was her grandmother's and she wasn't about to give it up. She bent over and seized the last box of the new porcelain tea set Lycloris had wanted. Standing on her tippy toes, she shoved it onto the very top shelf in the storage cabinet. It was finally done. Lorelei laughed dryly and closed the closet door behind her. Turning around, she clicked the huge brass padlock shut and marched down the hall. She reached the end of the corridor and clomped down the grand staircase that spiraled down to the floor. That's when a huge crash resounded from the kitchen followed by an unnecessarily loud string of curse words. Pivoting on her heel, she dashed to the kitchen only to find Fraser tapping his cigarette against the counter. His mouth was pulled down into a smug look and he stood glaring at the wall.

Studying Fraser, there seemed as though nothing was wrong except for the wretched expression. His dark blue hair fell around his face and was neat. His eyes seemed their usual color, a bright golden tone.

"What was that crash?" she asked placing her hand on her hip. She stood there waiting for a reply.

"I told him not to use my damn kitchen knives for this sort of thing," Fraser growled flicking his wrist at the wall, spewing cigarette ash in the process.

Swinging her eyes to the wall, Lorelei found herself looking at a kitchen knife embedded into it. Hanging from the knife was a cream piece of paper that appeared to have Wolfram's handwriting on it.

"I even said if he used my kitchen for target practice again, I would wring his neck dry!" Fraser practically screamed, kicking the old furnace that was against the back wall. Lorelei shook her head and walked over to the wall. She then proceeded to rip the note from the knife's grasp. Before she read it, she let out a much needed laugh. Some things never changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**I DO NOT OWN ANY CHARACTERS CREATED BY THE AUTHOR OF BLACK BUTLER NOR THE ORIGINAL STORYLINE.**

It was only half past noon by the time Wolfram had reached downtown Canebrook. Canebrook was the closest town to the mansion and if he wanted information on the neighbors, he would have to begin interrogating here. Covering a large yawn, he stopped at the mouth of Main Street to survey his surroundings. Today, Main Street was bustling with heaps of commoners due to the fact that it was the long awaited Sunday Market. Petite tents were lined up along the cobblestone walkway and entertainers were tripping head over heels causing hoots and giggles to bubble up in the crowd. One performer was a juggler, and as Wolfram saw it, was only making a fool out of himself. Brilliant colors were painted across his snowy skin and a yellow peasant top draped itself across his body. His trousers were baggy, but they were a gentle blue that complimented the yellow to a T.

Wolfram grunted distastefully and removed his gaze from the silly old man. Commoners would become anyone's dog or do anything just to get a shilling or two. He didn't want to spend his afternoon wasting his time with muttonheads like them.

"Now then, where should I begin?" Wolfram questioned himself, trying to spot someone or something that he could squeeze information out of. That's when he spied an innocent young woman standing near an antique vender, drooling over a minute elephant figurine. Judging by her clothes she was a commoner, and a plain one at that. However, the antique seller was trying to con her into purchasing the elephant figurine and he suddenly formed a plan.

Striding over to the olive green tent, Wolfram stopped a few feet short from the vender to try and eavesdrop on all of the nonsense he was spewing at the gullible woman. Apparently, the figurine was originally from Africa over 100 years ago, and belonged to a famous shaman who had used its "great powers" to heal all ailments from the village. After the shaman died, it was used by many others, but none could summon its internal power. So it had finally ended in the vender's hands so he could see if anyone here could "summon its great power". Then the sly vender began to spout stuff to her about maybe she could summon the power. Wolfram tapped his foot in impatience and finally gave into his better half.

Slowly, he approached the woman and nodded at her respectfully. She raised her head and her eyes glittered in amazement at Wolfram's elegant attire and cleanliness. Wolfram regarded her and frowned; she seemed just like a kid in a sweets shop, gazing at him all starry eyed.

"May I borrow this for a second?" he asked, referring to the elephant figurine. She seemed honored that he had even addressed her and her cheeks warmed to a bright peach pink.

"Of c-course," she stammered, bowing her head and presenting the trinket to him. Wolfram plucked it from her shaking hands and brought it up to his face. It seemed fine on the top, but when he turned it over he found what he was looking for. On the base, etched in wood were the manufacturer and a date that couldn't be further away from the vender's lies. He recognized the manufacturer to be an old Chinese firm that was well known for making cheap items and the date marked wasn't even 100 years old; it was only from 1876, 8 years ago. From there, he proceeded to drop the trinket on the ground and place his foot on it.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing?" the vender yelled, leaning over his stand to glare at Wolfram. The woman let out a horrified gasp and took a step back, which seemed like overkill to Wolfram. He turned to the woman and gazed at her directly in the eye.

"At most, this thing is worth 5 shillings," was all Wolfram said before crushing it under his shined black boot. The vender hopped over his stand and rushed toward Wolfram, his right fist raised as a declaration of war. However, the perturbed glare Wolfram gave him stopped him in his tracks and made him put his tail between his legs and scamper back behind his counter. That had taken longer than he had thought.

Hesitantly, the woman advanced in Wolfram's direction and halted behind him. Hearing her feet shuffling against the ground, Wolfram turned around and waited for her to choke her words out. Twiddling her thumbs, she began to speak in an unstable voice that seemed nervous and embarrassed.

"Thank you…," she rasped then trailed off, trying to find what else she could say to the handsome gentlemen that stood in front of her. Wolfram placed his gloved hand on her shoulder- he would have to wash it later because it was touching commoner clothes –and gave her a weak smile that seemed fake and forced.

"Actually, I have a question to ask you," Wolfram said, crouching down a bit so he could see her eye to eye. Her body tensed under the warmth of his hand and she slid her eyes up from the ground to meet his. It was like she was bracing herself for the impact of his question.

"Do you know who lives in the elaborate mansion about 17 kilometers from here?" he pressed her, squeezing her shoulder for dramatic effect. She seemed to ponder the question and then nodded her head vigorously.

"In fact I do! I believe the last name is Phantomhive," she said with such confidence that Wolfram couldn't help but grin with approval. Maybe they weren't so useless after all. Taking his hand off her shoulder, he grunted and stood back up to his original height. That was all he needed to know and he could piece the rest together on his own. Turning his back on her, he winked and strolled down the street toward home.

…

Lycloris was bored. She lay on her bed, observing the ceiling and tracing the intricate patterns with her eyes. Her pomegranate red hair was fanned out around her and her legs were swinging like metronomes off the side of the bed. It was already half past two and she hadn't moved an inch since Rin had decided to use her sleeping gown as a scratching post when she was still fast asleep. The day seemed to drag on forever and it had become even worse when Lorelei had notified her of Wolfram's absence from the household. She stuck out her lip and pouted, wondering why he hadn't taken her with him. It was just like him to leave her out of important matters since he still considered her as a child.

The sound of a chair skidding against wooden floor panels came from above her. Following that was the continuous sound of dress shoes clicking on the floor, fading as the person made their way out of the vicinity. It was probably her father, Master Balthazar, moving around the study. Her father was an inventor and he had made lots of money for his ideas. It was rare from him to come out of the study nowadays due to the growing demand of new technology. Hardly anything interrupted him so it must be important that he would go as far as leaving his sagging red leather chair.

As she thought harder and harder about it, she became curious as to what had occurred. Curling her toes, she lifted herself up from her fluffy bed sheets and leaped off of the mattress. Her feet made a muted thump and she pattered up to the door. Grasping the knob, she turned it until it clicked and opened the door with caution. Peering into the hall, she came to the conclusion that it was desolate of people and she stepped onto the cold wood flooring in the hall. She left her door slightly cracked as she didn't want to close it because it would just make more noise. Before she could tip toe her way to the main hall, she picked up a hushed conversation in a room about two doors down from her bedroom.

She scowled and then she remembered that the room where the voices resounded from was reserved for meetings with guests. Her curiosity grew and she made her way down the hall so she stood in front of the door. She couldn't make out what the voices were saying, but she could tell that the deeper one was most definitely her father's. The other one was quite distinctive as well, but not recognizable. Lowering herself to the ground, she pressed her eye against the peephole in the door. When she looked through she only saw her father's ebony black hair and liquid gold eyes. Today he seemed to be wearing his black leather eye patch, but that's not what concerned her. A stern look of loathing painted his face as he was glowering at someone across from him. The man across from him was mostly hidden by the door frame due to the fact that the peephole only allowed her so much viewing space.

That's when she saw it. On the stranger's finger was something she thought she would never lay her eyes on again. As soon as she spied the object, she knew exactly who the other person in the room was. Her heartbeat sped up and she crumpled up on the floor in grief.

"Why?" she asked herself before she completely blacked out from the shock.


	3. Chapter 3

Frasier leaned back in an old rickety wooden chair and began to tilt it hesitantly so it rested on the corner of the marble counter. After doing so, he drew his cigarette up to his mouth and took a puff before spewing the smoke into concentrated wisps that swirled around the room. He then let it dangle out of the corner of his mouth, and it teetered there until he let it slowly slip out of his open lips onto the floor. As it hit the floor, it gave a small hiccup of smoke before Frasier crushed it with his boot, causing a gray splatter on the tiles. That was his sixth cigarette in the past hour. He would usually limit himself to about three per hour, but as there was nothing better to do, he let himself go wild. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the musty cigarette pack and flipped one up and then grasped it between his teeth before jerking it out.

However, as soon as he was about to light the cigarette to life, the kitchen door swung open and hit the wall with a lurid thump. Frasier recoiled in surprise, and fell backward off of the chair, arms flailing, onto the ground. He then sat there, situated in a cross-legged position, rubbing the spot where he wacked his arm against the counter. He then spit out his cigarette, due to the fact that he had bitten it in half, and it landed in a gooey clump near a mouse trap that was under the pantry door.

Applause echoed from nearby, and Frasier swung his head around to see himself face to face with Lorelei. She had an amused smirk on her face, but her eyes seemed tired and dismissive. Her hands were blistered and bruised from handling all of the house duties and- not to mention- she was sopping wet.

"Well, what can I do for you?" Frasier said, grumbling as he stood up and brushed himself off. After that, he turned around and gazed at Lorelei, who fingering her hair nervously.

"Wolfram told me you need to stay the night with Esmeralda and keep an eye on her," Lorelei said, sweeping an annoying piece of hair off of her face.

"Esmer-wait who?" Frasier said, furrowing his eyebrows and cocking his head to the side.

"Esmeralda. You know, the girl that Wolfram found lying in a puddle outside in the rain about an hour ago," Lorelei said, trailing off to glance to see if any part of Frasier showed any recognition in remembrance. Yet, he still seemed to be giving her a blank stare displaying his obvious confusion on the matter. So she decided to retell the whole story from beginning to end.

"You see," she started, "Wolfram was coming home from Canebrook and apparently it had started raining. So, he decided to take a short cut where it wouldn't be as muddy getting back. However, when he took the split in the road a girl was lying in front of him like a wet rag. So, being the gentleman he is, Wolfram scooped her up like a princess and brought her back here. Least that's what a little birdie told me," She said winking and motioning him to come closer.

Frasier stepped forward and then stood beside Lorelei as she told him the room she was in and which staircases to take to get there. Frasier nodded halfheartedly and then lopped out of the room and gradually made the long journey through the house to the mystery girl's room.

…

Esmeralda heaved an exasperated sigh and turned to face –at least where she thought it was- the window as thunder rolled across the land making the glass shudder. She couldn't remember the last time that she experienced such a large storm. Where she came from, it was sunny around the clock. She would stand outside her family's seaside cottage and play her violin in the evening when it was breezy and waves would crash against the cliffs below her. The wispy grasses would tickle her legs and the wind blew kisses into her dusty onyx hair. Her violin was like a girl's teddy bear, her ticket to memories and her best friend. Her violin. Her eyes widened in panic and she patted the bed sheets around her in search of it. Where was it? Last place she remembered placing it was in her bag. Her bag. Her heart fluttered into overdrive and she felt her fingers crease the edge of the bed.

Turning herself, she gingerly slid her feet so they touched oak floor boards and lowered herself off the bed until she was crouched beside it. She then skimmed her hands along the surface searching for her bag. _Where could it have gone to?_ She thought, a fresh wave of panic overcoming her senses.

That's when the sound of a lock clicking came from the other side of the room, and then the creak of doors hinges moaning under the pressure of it opening. She began to scramble back up the side of the bed, but it was too late because the person who had come in caught a glimpse of her. She then caught the sound of their shoes clacking against the floor and she could tell it was a man's footsteps. That's because the pause between strides was longer and the steps seemed to be heavier than a woman's. Biting her lip until it bled, she clamped her hands on the bed sheets and hurdled herself on the bed. She then proceeded to skitter under the covers and poke her ear out of the side to listen for any more clues to who was in the room.

"So you're the lil'un Wolfram dragged home with him," a man's voice said, resonating from-she couldn't quite tell- the left lower corner of the room. From the sound of his voice, he was considerably young, but not as young as her, for she was fourteen.

"Anyway, I'm Frasier and I'll be keepin' a close eye on you for a while," Frasier called shifting his body weight in the corner of the room.

She decided, against her better judgment, that it was safe, and she poked her head of the covers.

"I'm E-Esmeralda," she stammered, twirling her hair in her fingers and using her toes to toy with the sheets. "It's nice to meet you."

Suddenly, the mood Frasier was emanating changed from relaxation to a mild confusion.

"Why are you lookin' straight at the window over there when I'm over here?" Frasier said, exaggerating his questioning tone.

"Dumbarse, you should have noticed already," Esmeralda snapped at him, clenching her fists against her sides. "I'm blind."

…

(2 Hours Earlier)

Wolfram squinted at the clouds rolling in, trying to figure out if they held any surprises like snow or rain. However, murky as they were, he couldn't tell and decided to terminate it from his mind until further notice. Yet, it wasn't long before beads of rain plummeted toward Wolfram's flawlessly ironed suit and trousers. Nonetheless, he was always prepared and, in a matter of seconds, Wolfram had an umbrella spread over his head and shoulders making it difficult for the water to splatter his clothing.

_Great, just what I need to complete my already peculiar day,_ Wolfram thought to himself, letting his shoulders sag in disappointment. As he rose his head up to gaze at the swerving pathway, he noticed how many mud puddles chose to spread themselves across it, preventing Wolfram from advancing much further. If he had, his dear shoes and trousers might have gotten a nasty trip.

That's when he remembered the short cut Lycloris had once pointed out to him on the way home. Her voice, reciting the directions, rang through his head loud and clear like a silver bell chiming on a still evening. _Right… then a left here…past this tree stump… another right…, _Wolfram delivered to himself, finally emerging at a fork in the road. That's where he was supposed to make a left. Pleased with his effort, he took the path that merged to the left. Though there were tree branches and rocks scattering the road, he found himself faced with something else strewn across the route. A young girl, no older than maybe fifteen, lay on the trail. Her black hair was caked with dirt and dried blood that was already crusting, indicating that she had been here more than an hour.

Her cerulean dress had holes eating up the surface, and the ribbon tying around the waist was lying in a soggy pile near her head. Her hands and feet were layered with moon shaped bruises and had irritated blisters ready to burst. Adjusting his gloves, Wolfram plucked her off of the ground, bundled the fragile girl in his arms, and began to make his way back to the house once again.

"Wait until Master Balthazar realizes who I have brought into the household," Wolfram whispered, fingering the girl's serene face. "That's if he ever does realize who it is," Wolfram added to himself, thinking that the situation could become interesting.


End file.
